Hands of a Murderer
by Kronos930
Summary: B. The letter behind the Serial Locked Rooms Killings. A murderer. But what about the man? This is the life of Beyond Birthday, in England, still fugitive from L, about his experiences, the people he killed and the double life he led...
1. Prologue

**Hi peeps! I can't believe I'm actually publishing this, but everyone who read it before thought it was good enough so I thought I'd give it a try. Any kinds of critisism is accepted I guess, but hopefully nothing harsh, as this is my first story I've written in a long time and the first story that is actually open for the world to see... Also I'm not really confident and I might go hide in a hole if things get out of hand. But still, enjoy!**

'Hands of a Murderer' = speech

_'Hands of a Murderer'_ = thought

* * *

This one had been easy. Too easy to lighten my boredom. Too easy to fill my thirst. It was an ordinary murderer of an ordinary teenager of an ordinary background. She didn't have anything special about her, not even a slight hilt on her IQ. She was stupid and careless and young. I think that is why I picked her in the first place. Her motivation was as simplistic, urged, _human_. She just wanted a good time, because she _didn't have a boyfriend for almost a year_. I wanted a good time too. Nothing special. Nothing special at all. It's what I was born to do, and these hands do no wrong and these eyes see no evil. I am not saying that what I do would seem right to you. You're not me. You don't understand. You listen to the government. Listen to your beloved politicians, with their bleached-on smiled and their lies. I have no place on this goddamned earth. You call this a life? You think Justice exists? You think God is looking over you? You think I'll spare you because you're screaming for mercy?

'_Can't hear your scream over mine'_

Who is your god now?! Who is your god now that I get to decide whether you live or die?! Who is your god?! She whimpers. I laugh, heartily, answered by its own echo. I fall silent. I feel alive. Thriving! I am feeling again! I cannot die! I can never die! And then why, why, why do I feel like I'm not happy?

'_WHY?' slash, 'WHY?!'_

I start sobbing uncontrollably. I place myself over my victim, oh poor girl you must be so scared! Slashing had resulted in thin cuts on her body. Her eyes were red from crying, blue from the bruising and beetle from the terror. I hug her, still crying. I smear my face onto her sweet smelling blood. I hug her tightly. How old is she? 15? 16? Quite young, I don't know. But her flesh was tender, overwhelmingly reminding me of a baby's. I touch her lips, her vampire lips, so dark red and luscious. Not a virgin. What a shame. Virgins react so innocently, so childishly, so artlessly, and so fun to watch them struggle and wriggle for their life before I inject them with sedation made by yours not truly.

'_Maybe I should mark her'_

Kyhahahaha. Well, why not? WHY not mark her?! It's fun knowing your victims are always going to be yours. They can't anything about it; they will be scarred before and after death. Even if they're dead they will have nightmares of me, and if they are going to be reborn they will fear me and remember me. And what if they live? IF, by some twisted fate they are left to stay here, then I'm sure they will look forward to their own suicide. I will seep and contaminate their dreams, I'll poison the little reason they have left, I'll be the shadow that follows them when they try to escape, I'll be every single infantile and selfish thought you will have. But I couldn't.

'_I can't let him know I'm doing this'_

It's not time yet. Glory will be mine, but for that, I must wait for the right moment. All good things come to those who wait. My plan is nowhere near completed yet. I can't grab L's attention now. She isn't worth to be my sacrifice to victory. I got to plan everything down to the last detail, down to the last step and last thought and last fingerprint I will make. I will win and I will make him loose his pride and honour. Will he think so much about himself then?

'_This child is boring me'_

THIS child. This terrible wanton is staining my hands. Defiling them with unworthy blood! I will show her, I will make her feel the prize for that!

'You know' I said conversationally, 'you really take care of your nails. They are so... pretty?' I jumped off the cheap motel bed we were on. She still had the force to turn her head to my direction. Her tied frame, which amusingly reminded me of a childhood rag toy, made a last effort to struggle free from the barbed wire I tied her with. Strings of lifeblood flowed anew down her limbs. At this she stopped. She was silent now. How boring. It distresses me, really. I was eager to know how it feels like to by dethroned from your destiny, what your last wishes were, or what you honestly think about me. Was my plan to abduct you strategic enough? Were there any suspicions in your mind? Rate my torturing skills from one to ten. The reality is that all of my trials so far had a one way conversation.

'Technically speaking' I continue, 'we, as the dominant primates on Earth, don't need fingernails' I bend down to a plastic bag I dumped under the bed. I take it from there, delicately, so that it doesn't rip to the rusty bed-frame, and doesn't leave any forensic evidence for the police to find. Inside it, I find some clothes, an empty syringe and a straight jaw pincer. The basics, but I couldn't really afford to be carrying big torturing instruments without raising suspicion. I only bought what I thought were the indispensables, the simplest tools to make someone suffer. I took out the pincer, carefully, and stood back up to my 'date', smiling.

'What most scientists agree on is that these are the vestige of our untamed ancestors' I said, lightly brushing off my clothes 'back in the days where we used to rip meat from our hunt and fight for our bare survival. What I find most fascinating is that we don't do that no more. Laws control us' I played with the pincer. The girl, whose name I _still_ couldn't remember without looking above her head, changed from her uncaring dazed look to a more alarmed one. She tried to say something with her gagged mouth, while I was snapping the tool's claws into empty air at my own rhythm.

'But now we don't really need them anymore, do we?' I leaned nearer to her. Her shaky breath was tingling on my skin. It pleasured me, to feel that fear, that _terror_. I smiled softly. Such a fake smile would calm people. I held her hand, marked and bleeding by her own fingernails, sticky because of her sweat. I lightly kissed it, slightly licking the clotted blood that caked the pale hands.

'Sorry' I whispered. I gingerly handled her left hand, deciding that I should go from her little finger to her thumb. I put her delicate manicured nail between the pincer's talons. Without counting down or preparing her, I swung my arm backwards, with great force, tearing her flesh and muscles apart. Her nerves were racking and screaming, her legs thrashing uselessly, her face red and her wet eyes full of despair and ache. She groaned in pain a few times, but I didn't wait, as I lunged for her ring finger. I figured this one has been harder to rip, so I forcefully pulled. The shredding of veins and tissue was heard prominently this time. The girl started sobbing, again. The next eight followed.

'oh deary me' I said, dropping the instrument, looking at the warm liquid gushing from the tips of her fingers, and dropping on the bed 'we only started to have fun, and you are already to your limit. We have come so far and I would really like to continue, but,' I looked at the clock which hung on the wall 'I have class to attend to in seven hours twenty-three minutes and some seconds'

_Look at him! We have given birth to a monster!_

'_But_ because I am definitely not a monster, I will give you a swift exit too this world' I clapped my hands solemnly mocking her, picking the plastic bag up again and taking out the syringe, 'and I will talk your death to you'

She slowly lifted her head up, groaned at the movement, and gave up. 'Your cause of death will be gas embolism. Remember that well. This syringe is empty. Straight to the point, I will inject air into your veins, and when it reaches the lungs and capillaries, it will get stuck'

'Capillaries are only a cell thick. Only one cell! They can only take small particles of gas little at a time; but never a big bubble. When it stops, your body automatically thinks "oh, there isn't enough respiration happening!"' I said in a falsetto voice 'so it quickens your respiration rate. But that's just useless; because after a few minutes' I uncapped the sterile needle 'you die'

I approached her, pumping 20 cc of air into the syringe. 'I'm finding this one of my favourite ways of killing. It just needs a needle and some air. No poison, no drug, nothing. The police probably will never know you died this way. It's very hard to trace' I took her thigh and carefully punctured where the main vein was. The wounded girl moaned and twitched, but nothing more.

'That's one dose done' I did the same action again 'two' and again 'three' I stopped seeing that the numbers above her head were scaling to zero quickly. I sighed. No more fun for me now. I sighed, and got on wiping every surface I've touched. I then took the fresh clothes out of my bag and began undressing and putting the clean ones on, wiping the blood I had on my hands and face with the dirty ones.

I stood up and opened the door 'You'll die in about six minutes' I said, not looking at her. I closed the door.

I wasn't satisfied on how the night went on. What a waste of time, killing her.

'_I'm bored already'_

I jumped from the balcony, and landed on my fours. This night was nothing special. Nothing special at all.

* * *

**A/N: this is what got me an award in school. I'm thinking about making a series out of this. What do you think? R&R please!**

**And I almost forgot, PLEASE DON'T BE HARSH. You might have noticed that english isn't my first (or my second T_T) language... so yeah P:**


	2. Chapter 1

**...So here is the second chapter. This is actually turning out to be a really good way to pass my time. And oh yeah, I forgot to do my disclaimer in the prologue. Oops.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. Not B or L or whoever I mentioned from the series. The plot is completely mine though.**

* * *

I gasped, as I ran through the long, stone-faced corridors. I wasn't going to be late. I was sure I wasn't. Damn, I even cut some quality time with the girl last night to be early to class! I looked at my watch. It was 8:33 already, and with a good run I was going to be in my class in less than a minute. Finally, I saw the door to my lesson. It was half-closed, meaning I wouldn't be in much trouble yet. I stopped before entering the class, adjusting my tie and pressing my hair down a last time. I then entered.

'Mr. Raine! I see that even the headmaster's warning couldn't motivate you to come to first period early' Mr. Reynolds, or _Doctor_ Reynolds as he would like to be addressed as, said. He was a sadistic person that treated his students accordingly to how much they kissed his arse. I guessed this was because of his childhood traumas, which was probably because he got bullied in school in the past.

'sorry sir' I muttered, as I walked to me seat. If it wasn't because I was hiding from L, I would've ripped his throat out with my two hands alone. I grinned, taking my human biology book out, _that would be something to see_. He could be on my death list if I wanted. But no, after the other night, spilling even dirtier blood closer to home would be dangerous. That's why when I want to have some fun I go fairly far from this college. The girl I killed last night, _Patricia_, lived in Brixton.

I had to drive five hours, five _bloody_ hours to get there and maybe even more to get back. I had to drive in muddy roads without cameras, so that I wouldn't get caught. I hid the vehicle in an abandoned farm shed then ran to the schools grounds where I did my morning mantra and tried to look decent for the school day. At school I had to fit in at all costs, even if it meant losing L's image. I didn't need to stand out or get attention for being a "sweet eating freak whose hair looks like he's just crawled out of bed". Genius or non-genius, if your parents were extremely rich and Roman Catholic, you were sure to get in here.

The _Corpus Christi Private College_ was where children from the upper class came when their families didn't have much time to care about them. They would accept you regardless if you were smart or stupid as far as you were, as most teachers say here, la crème de la crème. You weren't allowed to leave the school grounds except if your parents sent a note to the headmaster. You weren't allowed to make friends out of this school just in case they were "inappropriate" for you. And don't get me started about racism.

Human biology was boring. The teacher was pathetic at explaining the processes of mitosis and meiosis. This school was pathetic, believing that they gave their students the best learning they could. Some students within it were pathetic, in their own wonderful world or social Darwinism, thinking they're at the top of society's food chain because they worked so hard to do that test we had last week and passed. I studied for the same test when I was eight.

'_Ah, Wammy's. Home. I wish sometimes I could go back there and make time run backwards. Maybe if I didn't go off the deep end I-'_

The sudden movement and screeching of chairs shook me out of my thoughts. Was it the end of lesson already?

'Louis are you feeling sick? You don't look well' a feminine voice said behind me. I nearly skipped out of my chair at her sudden appearance.

I turned 'I am fairly okay, thanks' I said, 'I had a awful night yesterday, that's all'

The lie went right through for Natalie Howard, as she smiled. I couldn't help but smile back at the kindness emanating from her lips. She truly was one of the rare, untainted people of this planet. The petite girl pulled a chair next to me 'have you done your political history essay yet?' she asked.

'Is it a new habit of you to do completely unrelated things in this lesson?' I retorted 'yes, I wrote 6937 words in total. My current worry is finishing this project' I tapped on the graph paper on my table.

'You always finish way before your deadlines. No wonder you're sleep deprived!' although I felt a hint of jealousy in her voice, her chocolate brown eyes were concerned: concern meant affection which meant unwanted attention.

I started to plot the data on the graph 'that's another matter altogether, Natalie' I said.

'Didn't your parents make you visit your doctor?' she insisted.

I smiled bitterly. 'My father is on a business trip in California. He simply doesn't have the time' I lied. I lied all the time. I hid my nature from everyone. I trusted no one.

'Aww. You are not alone here' she said, putting her arm over my shoulder 'my parents bought me a pony for my fourth birthday. But they never came or gave me a call. Sometimes I think they care more about their career than me'

'_I got a beating and a steam iron on my back'_

'That's horrible' it wasn't sympathy I felt for her, but something more of a cynical empathy. The feeling I got for all things lost and abandoned, and she vaguely came into the latter.

The bell rang above us. I wanted to get out of this classroom, but something stopped me. It was a hand, a warmer, smaller one, over mine.

'Hey Louis?' Natalie said.

It took me longer than I imagined to register what was happening 'y-yes?'

'You know you can tell me everything, right?' she said, gripping my hand tighter.

'Of course' I said. My hand slipped out of hers, and I walked out of the classroom as fast as possible.

'_she would never understand how it feels'_

I pushed her words out of my mind. I didn't need unnecessary worries. Feelings and friendship are things I'm not allowed to have. Things _L_ wouldn't need. I walked out into the school grounds, looking around suspiciously to make sure Natalie, or anyone, was following me. I only had this hour today to go out without getting noticed.

I followed a half-hidden path in the grass which led me into the forest. Unfortunately there weren't any wild beasts in there, just other boring animals like birds and rabbits. After ten minutes of walking though bushes I stopped and leaned down to open a hidden trapdoor in the forest floor. Its history is quite interesting, from what I know. It was a bunker used in the Second World War by the former children that went to this school. Eventually, it was forgotten over the years and I doubt that anyone alive knows about this place anymore.

When I discovered it, I was thrilled. It gave me a place to keep my pet in. I opened the door below me and walked down its dusty stairs. This place always smelled musty, but I didn't mind. Most of my other hideouts were like that.

A faint jingle came from the far wall, in the shadows. Shuffling. Heavy breathing. More shuffling.

'I've come with a treat' I said, pulling a tightly sealed plastic bag out my school bag 'come here, Twelve' I threw the object to the ground.

Twelve was silent for a second. Then he leapt out as far as the chains hanging from his legs and arms allowed him and grabbed the bag. He opened it and sniffed it.

'Took it from a girl I met last night' I said 'she probably won't need it anymore'

He took out the severed hand form the bag by one of its fingers. His eyes had hunger in them, and ravaged the hand with him yellow, rotting teeth. He growled during his meal, holding it preciously with his dirt-enveloped hands. The sound of chewing and breaking bones filled the room.

The man before me, this vile creature caked in his own excrement and grime, was a wanted criminal. Daren Jones, was his name. He was accused of five cases of cannibalism and was bound to face the death penalty if he ever got caught. When I met him, he wanted to eat me, ironically. I twisted him mind enough to make him my pet. Wasn't all that fun, he was fragile and sentimental. Easy. Too easy.

I reduced him to a subhuman being. He is my twelfth pet so far, hence his name. He was the most boring. My last pet could talk, but he seemed to have lost the ability to speak a month after he came here.

I rolled a bottle of water on the floor 'Twelve I'm going now. Bye' I got a grunt as a response. I walked up to the stair again and closed the door.

* * *

**A/N: **_Corpus Christi, _**if my grammar is correct, means Christ's Body. My friend suggested this, but I don't know where she got it from. If there's an actual school that is called like that, then I didn't mean it. **

**Also, I'm not offending people who go to private schools. I'm not here to judge, and I always try not to make first impressions or base what I think from stereotypes. I don't think they're racist, stuck-up, or greedy. I'm entirely playing on the stereotype, because that's what 95% of my class thinks. How stupid. My closest friend from school is middle-upper class, and she doesn't brag about what she's got.**

**oh and please tell me if there are any grammar errors in here. Thanks and R&R please!**


End file.
